weapon
by acomplimentandasmile
Summary: The first time she picks it up, she is only a child. At the time, she can only see it as a tool. Little does she know it will be used as a deadly weapon. Her father is the one who teaches her how to use the axe. She's a quick learner, and soon she's almost as skilled as him. He smiles, ruffling his daughter's hair. Little does he know he's teaching her how to kill.


**Weapon**

**A/N: This fic is for dxwntrxdden on Tumblr. Merry Christmas, hun!**

The first time she picks it up, she is only a child. At the time, she can only see it as a tool. Little does she know it will be used as a deadly weapon. Her father is the one who teaches her how to use the axe. She's a quick learner, and soon she's almost as skilled as him. He smiles, ruffling his daughter's hair.

_Little does he know he's teaching her how to kill._

**000**

She complains about the work, but only half-heartedly. Johanna always enjoyed using her axe, felt strong and powerful as she dug it into wood.

She never imagined she would have to dig it into human beings.

Johanna hated the games. Hated how the capital controlled them. Detested the fact that they were sent to their death only for amusement.

Despite this, she never truly imagined she would be the one sent to play the game. No one in her family had. The odds _must _be in her favour. They had to be.

**000**

She doesn't try to mask her shock when her name is called. In that moment, she realizes she will be a killer, she has no choice.

As she walks toward the stage, she is already forming a plan. A plan to win. A plan to _survive._

She doesn't stand tall and proud, like she's seen so many others attempt to do. Instead, she openly displays her tears and fright, even exaggerates them a bit.

She is skilled. She is prepared. _She will win._

**000**

The first thing she does when the games begin is run to the cornucopia. She knows it would be smarter to run. Sprint off and hide to portray the weakling she is pretending to be, until she knows she will be able to strike.

Instead, she runs toward danger; frantically searching for one specific thing. After she takes a pack, she spots it. An axe. She picks it up, almost sighing in relief.

She doesn't attack anyone with it. Not yet. Instead, she runs and waits for the right moment.

She knows how to wield a lethal weapon. She's known since she was young. She only just realized it now.

**000**

Her clothes are stained red with blood, and only some of it is hers. She clutches her weapon so tightly her knuckles turn white. Johanna watches her opponent carefully, trying to figure out what the boy's next move will be.

They are all that's left of the twenty-four children that had been sent to play. Sent to kill, and to die.

Johanna has killed some of those children, and she knows the boy facing her with cold, dead eyes has as well.

Suddenly, the boy yet again moves to strike. He catches her off guard, and slashes her arm. Crimson blood flows from the wound.

Quickly regaining her composure, Johanna retaliates. She strikes his leg, and the boy falls. He hits the dirt hard, knocking his head off the ground. She looks down upon him, before bringing her axe down.

She is ruthless. She is a killer. She has played right into the capitol's game.

**000**

She trains every day.

She knows it's pointless, surely her being a victor will ensure she will never be in the games again. But using her axe gives her the strange feeling of comfort.

She's always enjoyed wielding the weapon – she will never quite see it as a tool again – and the knowledge that she can fight is satisfying to her. She couldn't save her family, but the weapon has helped her save her own life.

Her skill is all she truly has left, besides her life. And she's not even living, not really. So she trains.

**000**

She smiles when she finds the weapon. Picking it up, she runs her hand lightly across the blade.

She knows her aim isn't to survive, not this time. But the axe will help her save the Mockingjay. Then the games will finally be over.

She knows she can't win. But dying with the weapon in her hand is strangely comforting. After all, it's from home.


End file.
